


The Vigil

by MagicalStranger13



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 16:39:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6761875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalStranger13/pseuds/MagicalStranger13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Briar Prince falls ill, how will his father react?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Vigil

**Author's Note:**

> Yet more Briar King and kid Bog! Hope you guys enjoy this hearty dose of angst.  
> Taking some liberty with the behavior of mites and also keeping with my headcanon of goblins only getting sick from an outside force.  
> WARNING: dark Briar ahead!

On a cloudy, late spring morning, the Dark Forest was living up to its name, but that didn’t mean the early to rise creatures dwelling within its trees were going to take the lack of direct sunlight as an excuse to laze about. 

Such was the case in the grand goblin castle of jagged stump and animal bone.  Coming down the hall, on their way to the dining room for breakfast as usual, were the hushed, yet teasing voices of the Briar King and his lovely queen, Griselda. 

“......-bludy, wicked temptress.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about!  I was just having an innocent little stretch to wake myself up.”

“Well, there was nuthin’ _innocent_ abou’ wha’ ye did tah me las’ night.”

“ _Ooh_!  Now, you stop that!”

“Stop wha’?  Jus’ givin’ ye ‘an innocent little’ back scratch.”

“Then you have a very poor sense of direction, mister!  _Woah!_ ”

“Heh, heh, heh.”

“Shh!  Ah!  I mean it, Briar!  Hey!  Bog will hear us!”

“Hmph, alrigh’; bu’ I _will_ take care o’ _yoo_ later.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Ye do, do ye?”

“Nice try.  About face!  Forward, march!”

“As mah queen commands.”

Chuckling, the couple rounded the corner into the dining room.  Automatically, Briar sat down and began to pour his regular cup of hot tea, but Griselda paused in the doorway. 

“That’s funny.”  She said, glancing around.  “Where’s Bog?  He’s usually here before we are.”

At the mention of his boy’s absence, Briar instantly stopped what he was doing and looked up to, sure enough, find the table vacant of the goblin prince.  A harsh scowl marred his sharp features.  He didn’t take tardiness lightly; _especially_ when it came to training his son to be king.

“BOG!!!”

“Shh!”  Griselda hissed, waving her hands at him.  “Don’t shout!  Maybe he’s just in the kitchen!”

“He better no’ be sneakin’ more o’ those peach jelly rolls!”  Briar barked after his wife as she crossed the room to duck her head into archway leading off to the kitchen.

After a few seconds, Griselda came back with an grimace on her face.

“He’s not in there.”

“Thah wee slacker!”  Briar grumbled, shooting up from the table and marching back to the hall, his queen chasing after him.  “I’ll teach ‘im tah idle about!”

“Briar, wait!  Bog has never been late a day in his life!  I seriously doubt he would start now!  I’m sure there’s a logical explanation!  Slow down!”  

* * *

By the time they’d reached Bog’s room, Griselda had managed to wrangle her husband enough to take the lead, but her control was just at bare minimum.  If Bog truly was sleeping in, there’d be no preventing a swift and severe punishment. 

“Now, just relax your thorax, and let me find out what’s going on.”

Briar frowned, but didn’t say a word.

“Bog?”  Griselda asked, rapping gently on the door.  “Honey, are you in there?”

There was no answer.

Briar huffed in annoyance, but Griselda ignored him and carefully turned the knob to enter the room.

“Bog?”  She called again.  “You awake?” 

Still no answer.

Leaning into the shadowy bedchamber, the goblin king and queen could just make out a form lying on the bed, huddled under a moss-comforter.

“I _knew_ it!”  Briar growled.  “ _Bog_!  If ye dorn’t ge’ outta tha’ bed righ’ _now_ , I’ll- _OOF_!”

“Will you be _quiet_ and let me handle this?!”  His wife hissed as he doubled over from where she’d elbowed him hard in the stomach.

While her husband glared and coughed, Griselda tiptoed across the room and placed a tentative hand on her son’s shoulder.  Now that she was up close, she could see that Bog’s eyes were barely open, and she could hear the alarmingly faint, rasping sound of his breath.  He was also trembling.

“Bog?”  She whispered, trying to stay calm.  “Can you hear me?”

The boy stirred slightly, but only just.  His voice was a muted croak.

“………Mmmmooooo-……-maaaa…?”

“Yes?  I’m here.”

“…I dorn’t……f-ffffeel good…”

“You don’t?”  She sat down beside him.  “What’s wrong, sweetheart?  Where does it hurt?”

“……Eeeeverywh-where…”

By that time, Briar had approached them just as Griselda reached up and pressed her hand to her son’s cheek.  She’d barely touched him for two seconds before she suddenly bolted up from the bed and sprinted to the cupboard.

“Wha’ is it?”  Briar demanded, startled by her actions.

“He’s _very_ sick, Briar.”

“What?  Wha’ do ye mean he’s sick?  How?  What’s wrong with ‘im?”

“I don’t know yet!”  The Briar Queen snapped, rushing back with a load of at least four blankets in her arms.  “But he’s got a terrible fever; he’s burning up!”

Stunned, Briar stood there, frozen, as his wife quickly spread the covers over their son and tucked him in.  It was as if tiny icicles were stabbing every square inch of his flesh from the inside out.  His heart beat thundered in his ears, growing louder and louder.

“Don’t just stand there like an idiot!”  Griselda yelled as she grabbed Bog’s water pitcher and goblet from the bedside table and poured a full glass.  “Go fetch a healer!”   

Somehow, her demand broke through the flock of ugly voices in his head and the invisible hands rooting him to the ground.  Immediately, Briar took off flying out of his son’s bedroom.    

* * *

Half an hour later, the Briar King and Queen stood just outside the open doorway of their son’s room, anxiously watching as the healer took his time examining the boy and eventually gave him some frothy liquid to drink. 

“How is he, Jimson?”  Griselda asked when the healer finally stepped out into the hall.

“Not good, your majesty.”  The goblin replied somberly as he wiped his hands on his apron.  “But, at least we know the cause.  He has a mite wound on his neck.  It must’ve flown in through the window.”

A dangerous rumble came from somewhere deep in Briar’s throat, but though he said nothing, Griselda felt the way his entire body went fraught with tension at her side.   

“I don’t understand.”  She said.  “A mite wouldn’t make him this sick.  It would just take some blood and go.  The most he’d feel is a bit woozy.”

Jimson shook his head.

“Not unless the mite was infected.”

Like a blade, ice cold foreboding punctured Griselda's stomach and she heard her husband’s shoulder plates rattle.  She forced herself to speak slowly and clearly.    

“…W-what do you mean… _infected_?”

“Sometimes, a mite may feed off of an animal that’s carrying some sort of disease.  When said animal dies, the mite moves on to a better food source, and it brings the disease along with it, so when it attaches itself to a new host, it infects the blood almost the same as venom.  I strongly suspect that this is what’s happened to the prince.  The mite that bit him must’ve been near the end if it’s lifespan, because usually mites don’t bother us very much.  Goblin blood isn’t very nutritious for them, so if they do choose to feed from us, it’s never for long.”

“Well, do you know what disease it gave my son?”

The healer heaved a dismal sigh.

“It’s impossible to say, my queen.  There are literally dozens of possibilities; and the wrong treatment could accidentally _kill_ him.”

Griselda’s breath caught in horror at the word as Jimson continued.

“The fact that your son is a goblin has kept him alive…so far.  Now, it’s only a question of whether or not he’ll make it through the night.”

The Briar Queen’s head jerked up with a stricken expression.

“What?!  You mean-?  C-can’t you do anything else for him?!”

“I’m afraid not, your majesty.”

The words were barely past Jimson’s lips when Briar, with a speed that made Griselda jump in alarm, seized the healer by the throat and slammed him hard into the wall.

“Insolent _bastard_!”  The king snarled, eyes flashing with deadly intention.  “Ye think I’m jus’ gonna le' ye walk away from _my_ **son**?!”

Eyes bulging in terror, Jimson clawed uselessly at Briar’s huge hand, mouth open wide in a desperate attempt to draw in air.  His stubby legs dangled helplessly off the floor. 

“ _BRIAR_!  BRIAR, _STOP_!”  Griselda screamed, yanking on her husband’s free arm, now that she’d gotten over her shock.  “STOP!  _PLEASE_!  LET HIM GO!  HONEY, PLEASE LET HIM _GO_!”

The pressure on Jimson’s windpipe increased and his eyes slowly rolled back as his consciousness slipped further and further away.  A blueish tint crept into the corners of his lips, and Griselda began to cry at the sight.

Hearing the sound of his wife’s desperate sobbing, Briar’s cloud of rage vanished and he dropped the healer like a bag of sand, but without remorse.

Griselda clung to her husband’s waist, tears streaming down her face as Jimson wheezed and hacked on the floor.  Other than his hand in her hair, Briar made no move to console her. 

Cowering under the hellish glare of his king, the healer rose only to his hands and knees and bowed his sniveling head in a pathetic, groveling display. 

“Forgive me, sire!  I meant that I’ve already done all I safely can for the Briar Prince!  With no possible way of knowing what might’ve afflicted the animal the mite came from, all that can be done now is for the prince to fight the illness off on his own!  I’ve given him a draught to help lower the fever and give him some strength, but the rest must be left up to him!”

Briar kicked him in frustration, not painfully, but enough to send him sprawling. 

“Get out.”  He ordered in demonic anger.  “And if ye breathe a word o’ this tah anyone, it’ll be yer last!  Am I _understood_?”

“Y-yes, your majesty!”  The healer stammered as he struggled to his feet and backed away down the hall.  “Keep his highness warm and well hydrated!  That’ll be his best chance!”

“ ** _GET OUT_**!!!”

With a yelp and a stumble, Jimson did just that, but he was not gone for more than five seconds before two new faces appeared at the end of the corridor from whence the healer had fled.

“There you are, sire!” 

It was the Briar King’s bumbling assistants: This and That. 

“My Lord and Lady,” cried the former, who had spoken first, “it’s time for the assembly!  The village heads have been waiting for over an hour!”

“Are you coming to address them?”  That inquired fretfully.  “If not, then what are they to do instead?”

Baring his fangs, Briar drew breath to nastily tell his aides just what the assembly _could_ do to _themselves_ , for all he cared, but when his wife sniffled, he was once again restrained.   

Placing his hands on her shoulders, he turned them so This and That wouldn’t see the distress on their queen’s face, and knelt down to speak to her. 

“Go.”  He said, nodding towards Bog’s door.  “See tah ‘im.  I’ll take care o’ thah rest, an’ I’ll make sure thah servants stay away from this part o’ thah castle.” 

“Briar-”

“Just _do_ it.”

And her husband stalked away before she could say another word.  

* * *

In retrospect, Griselda knew this arrangement was for the best.  Briar’s temper would be more formidable than usual, but it would give him something to focus on, nonetheless.  She truly pitied anyone that crossed her king today, for she could hear him downstairs, roaring and cursing up a storm so great, she could feel it through the floor. 

The one thing she did envy, however, was a constant occupation.  When her nerves were on edge, she was as jumpy as a grasshopper.  Sitting down was impossible, and if she left the room and saw anyone, she would definitely collapse, but there were only so many times she could tip some cool water into Bog’s mouth, stroke his cheeks, fluff his pillows, straighten his blankets, and sporadically rearrange the furniture and knick-knacks in the room, before she was pacing in circles and nearly tearing her hair out from feeling so damn helpless. 

Just yesterday, her son had been as healthy and energetic as any goblin lad could hope to be.  Now, he had a mere fifty percent chance of ever seeing the next sunrise.

Dammit all to hell, it just wasn’t fair!  What would she do without her sweet baby boy?  He was her pride and joy; her single reason for willing the world to go on turning, so she could one day see the kind of fine alpha and king he would be, and the family he’d raise.  The midwife had made it perfectly clear that Griselda would not be able to produce any more offspring.  So to lose her Bog’s sparkling eyes, lilting voice, and playful, albeit anxious, disposition, would be to lose everything. 

Stifling a whimper, Griselda moved away from the bed yet again and ended up with her arms braced over Bog’s desk, where various pieces of parchment sporting her son’s free-time drawings were scattered.  Two or three teardrops splashed over coal lines and arches depicting various flora, fauna, and landmarks of the Dark Forest.

The Briar Queen was not one to dwell long on her own woes.  She was notorious for putting the needs and concerns of others before herself; and hand in hand with her despair for her ailing child, was the sorrow she felt for her poor husband.

This…this would…… _destroy_ Briar.      

She knew that Briar would rather die than take another mate, even for a purpose as logistical as siring another heir.  He had sworn from the depths of his soul to protect their son and he devoted almost every moment of his time to sharpening Bog’s education, discipline, and physical prowess so that one day, the boy could assume the throne and be a far better king than his father.  Griselda had even seen, on many occasions, evidence of a personal, deep-rooted bond between the two.  Though Bog would always come to her (sometimes unwillingly) for comfort and sympathy, there was a special attachment he and Briar had with each other that she was no more than a spectator to.  It had nothing to do with words, instead it was all in the actions: a look, a posture, a sparring move.  Even if neither of them would express it out loud, or even acknowledge it in the plainest of ways in their own heads, Griselda would forever attest to the powerful love between them. 

How would she possibly be able to ease his sadness?  How many lives would he take, or injuries would he inflict on the ignorant masses in retaliation for the loss?  And would he hand over his title to one of his most capable goblin soldiers and live out the rest of his days with her in solitude?  Or would he throw the next challenger’s match and leave her childless _and_ a widow?

Horrified at the thought, Griselda tore herself away from the desk with such violence, she nearly upset the stool. 

No.

She had to have faith in her son _and_ her husband.  Briar had taught him well; there was nothing the boy knew how to do better than fight. 

 _He’ll make it._   She thought, returning to the bedside to give the prince more water.  _You have to make it, Bog.  Please…_

Soon, the queen was whiling away the daylight hours, crooning to her boy the many lullabies she used to sing when he was an infant, while he shivered and slept. 

* * *

Griselda woke with a start from a strange dream.  A great pine tree had scooped her up into its branches from the cold, hard ground and had carried her through a deep, dimly lit cave.  There, it had placed her on a soft bed of cottonwood seed and moth silk.  At first, she’d been in the lap of heaven, but gradually, she became aware of a sinking sensation.  The soothing fibers were grasping and choking, dragging her down into a black, fathomless ocean. 

As her eyes blinked in the darkness, she realized that it was not an ocean that had swallowed her, but her own bedsheets.  They had tangled about her legs and arms in her fitful slumber.  One glance at the moon’s position out the window told her that it was about three in the morning. 

For a moment, she entertained the notion that yesterday had been nothing more than a nightmare, but the thought burned to ash almost right away.  No, the memory of fussing about her son’s room while listening to her husband’s wrath below was much too clear.  The last thing she remembered was sitting beside Bog to take his temperature again, sometime in the late afternoon.     

She must’ve dozed off and Briar must’ve then come soon after, and carried her to their chambers.

Freeing herself from the blankets, she reached out to her left, expecting to feel rough scales and wiry, powerful limbs, but instead, there was nothing but bedding.

“Briar?”  She asked the shadows.

There was no reply. 

At that exact point, Jimson’s words came back to her, and Griselda took what one might’ve considered a flying leap from the bed.  She snatched a shawl from the back of a chair before rushing out the door and down the deserted halls.

No wonder she’d dreamt up a cave.  Griselda had never seen the castle so gloomy, empty, and silent.  Of course, she’d never been up and about at this hour either, but regardless, her trepidation of the atmosphere and fear that she would discover something far more dreadful than she hoped, made her slow her pace as she neared her son’s bedroom.

The door was cracked barely, and a dim glow stretched across the floor.  Saying a prayer in her head, she tiptoed to the opening and peeked inside. 

Framed by the pool of a single candle’s light, was her husband and son.  The former was slumped in the chair by the bed, with his head in his hand.  The latter was pale and motionless.     

For one terrifying second, Griselda’s heart jumped to her throat, but she was calmed by the following sight of Bog’s chest rising and his brief coughing fit. 

Briar quickly sat up at the sound and reached over to adjust Bog’s quilt and give him another glass of water.  When the boy settled, his father set the cup down and brushed his hand over his son’s head. 

Tears pricked at the corners of Griselda’s eyes.  It was a rare, and indescribably beautiful thing to see Briar so unguarded in his tenderness towards Bog.  She often wondered if her son knew just how dearly his father cared for him. 

As much as she was aching to go to them, the scene felt too private and intimate for her to intrude upon, and so, cheered that all seemed well and convinced that she could do no more to help, and that her boy would awaken in a few hours under his father’s diligent watch, Griselda retreated back down the hall to her chamber.  

* * *

A small, but irritating pressure bore down on Bog’s eyelids.  Turning over and rubbing a hand across his face was all it took to realize that the sun’s morning rays were the culprit.  Waking up fully, Bog yawned and stretched to get his bearings.  He felt a touch sluggish, and very hungry, but ready to tackle the day. 

The familiar sound of a twitching wing made him look to his left, and he tumbled out of bed with a loud gasp when he caught sight of his father, sagging in a chair directly beside him. 

Briar snapped to attention at the commotion and jolted to his feet in surprise, knocking his seat over with a clatter as Bog scrambled to grab his practice staff and stand before the king in a respectable manner. 

“Bog?”  Briar asked, struggling out of his fatigue.  “Wha’ in thah hell-?” 

“I’m sorry, dad!”  The boy exclaimed.  “I’m sorry!  I didn’t mean to sleep in!  Honest, I didn’t!  It was an accident, I swear!  I promise it won’t happen again!  I’m ready fer trainin’!  I’ll even skip my breakfast!  What am I gonna learn today, dad?”

Briar stared wordlessly at his son as he wrapped his head around not only the fact that he was fully recovered, but also at what he’d just said.  The boy didn’t even seem to remember he’d been deathly ill, and now here he was, willing to go even longer without eating and exert himself…

…just to please his overbearing father. 

Shame flooded Briar at a level he’d never experienced before, and a long pause ensued before he could respond. 

Bog shuffled his feet in agitation.

“N-not……no' tahday, lad.”  Briar finally murmured, absently picking up his scepter.  “I’ve……I ‘ave importan’…business tah take care of.  We’ll ge’ back tah trainin’ tahmarrow……maybe…”

Only Bog would be frightened by the prospect of a free day declared by this father.

“Oh no, dad!  I mean it!  Please, dorn’t be angry at me!  I’m sorry I slept in, but I won’t do it ever again!  I’ll train hard today, ye’ll see!”

“I’m no’-!  I said, no' tahday.  Now jus’-”    

“But, dad-!”

“I SAID, _NO_!”

The Briar Prince shrank away at the outburst and bit his tongue to keep from tearing up.  There was nothing worse than having his father furious with him.

On Briar’s part, his constant self-loathing crushed him harder than it ever had in the past.  After what seemed like an eternity and a half of tense silence, he placed a hesitant hand on top of Bog’s head.

The boy stilled, thrown by the unusually affectionate gesture.    

“I’m no’ angry….son.  I jus’……'ave other things…I need tah do.   I wan'……I wan' ye tah jus’……enjoy yerself tahday.  Go eat…go play…but make sure ye see yer mother first…understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“…Good.”

To Bog’s further astonishment, Briar gave his head a single pat. 

“Everythin’s alrigh’, Bog.  I’ll see ye a’ dinner.”

“O-okay…”

And with that, Briar quit the room.  

* * *

Though Griselda knew Bog hadn’t appreciated being strangled by her embrace and smothered by her kisses that morning, she was happy that he’d enjoyed himself throughout the day; amusing himself in any way he saw fit.  She kept a close eye on him, and was thankful that they hadn’t said anything about Bog’s sickness to the servants.  This way, Bog only had to deal with his mother’s exuberance and supervision. 

One would never guess that the prince had been bedridden only last night.  His energy and playfulness were a steady reassurance to Griselda that her son was well out of danger. 

The majority of her worry had switched over to Briar.  Her husband had been curiously scarce all day.  This and That could only tell her that he’d gone out, but to where they had no clue.  Even at dinner, when she asked him of his whereabouts, he’d been oddly vague, but his tone had made it clear that he did not wish to discuss the matter, and as much as she loved to pester him, she could always tell when it was not wise to, so she let it be. 

He’d tell her when he was ready; probably in a day or two. 

She was not prepared to prematurely discover his secret in the witching hour of that very same night. 

After Bog had been tucked in and kissed for the hundredth time, much to his chagrin, Griselda had retired to her bedchamber and was soon joined by her stoic husband, where she fell asleep in his arms, as per the norm.  She was awakened not long after, by a draft from the window and upon scanning the room, found Briar to be nowhere in sight. 

Assuming he’d gone to check on Bog, she draped herself in her shawl and jogged down the hallway to join him, but was nonplussed to see that he was not there either.  Only Bog was within, sleeping soundly and clutching his well-worn mushroom doll. 

Smiling in a maternal way, she padded back to her room, trying to figure out where her husband could’ve gone so late.  She glanced at the window.  Its being open, heavily suggested that Briar had used it as an exit.    

_Weird.  What on earth would he want to do outside at this time of the night?_

She soon got her answer. 

When she approached the pane she noticed a ball of light in the distance.  A flickering light. 

A _fire_. 

Chest clenching in dread, Griselda spun around and raced out of her room, down the stairs, and through the darkened entrance hall, out into the cool, spring night.  Bush twigs slapped at her arms and face, stones in her path bruised her feet, and the mud and moss saturating the terrain made her slip several times in her gait.  She’d never been a very fast runner, but her determination soon put her within range of the hazard. 

The smell of burning wood and leaves was potent, but there was something else was permeating the scent…

…honey?

Rounding a bend, Griselda skidded to a halt at what was before her.

A massive beehive, nestled in the bosom of a rotten stump, was now no more than a wall of flame.  She could hear the awful wailing of its erectors trapped inside.  A few managed to escape their fiery tomb, most of which were blazing themselves.  They shot aimlessly through the air in blind, frantic patterns, like grotesque lightning bugs, but were quickly struck down by Briar, who was hovering around the hive in wait for any others that would dare to defy the fate he’d decided for them.        

Griselda opened her mouth to demand an explanation for such a brutish act, but was intercepted by a single bee flying straight at her.  It was fortunately not on fire, but suffering another ghastly affliction.  Clinging to its striped body, were a handful of fat mites. 

All at once, the horrendous and miserable truth about what Briar was doing crashed over Griselda like a rockslide and she clutched her hands against her mouth to stifle a wretched moan. 

The bee was flattened against the ground by Briar’s staff and chucked into the fire before it could reach her, and that was the last of the stragglers; the rest were doomed to the inferno.  There was no way to be certain that the mite which bit their son had come from here, but it was the most likely of origins.  And, though Briar’s methods were monstrous, a hive so badly infested had no hope of being cleansed. 

It was a wicked thought, but notwithstanding the innocent bees, she was glad to know the mites were dead. 

Briar dropped to his knees then, exhausted and overwhelmed by the tumult of emotions inside him.  Guilt for the murder of thousands of unsuspecting insects, relief at exacting some form of revenge on the creatures that had poisoned his son, and anger that he hadn’t been able to guard him from them in the first place! 

How else would he fail him?

Where else would he be as careless as his own bastard father?  

When would his son be hurt again?

_No._

_Never again._

_As long as I live._

His wife’s arms encircled him and he drew from her endless well of strength as his body was wrecked with sobs.  The couple stood holding each other until the grey dawn painted the forest, and the stump was nothing but smoldering embers.   

 

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment and/or kudos if you want more from me soon!  
> <3


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